


On the Same Page

by Predatrix



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Sex, Humour, M/M, Reference to early pornography, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 09:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13587645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predatrix/pseuds/Predatrix
Summary: A sequel to "The Dreadful Scrapbook", which Nef posted for me when I had a rest from the fandom following an attack of bad health.It eventually occurred to me, what's our Gilbert been doing with the Dreadful Scrapbook in the Darkness--and what if Jonathan found out?





	1. Mr Norrell Kisses Jonathan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nefertiti_22002](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefertiti_22002/gifts).



It took Jonathan some time to figure out that he was less than delighted with his new _affaire de coeur._ What was wrong (if there _was_ anything wrong, which was by no means clear) was as nebulous as his shadowy new home, with its tottering shadows and flickering candles.

It was nothing like any involvement he had had before. His marriage had been impulsive--really he had not deserved it to go as well as it had, and he was realistic enough to know a lot of that was to Bell's credit rather than his own.

Apart from that, his affairs had been lighthearted.

There had been mature ladies (whatever might be said to his discredit, he had been no Lascelles, leaving trails of ruined maidens or broken marriages behind him) or military gentlemen (where they had all treated each other with joking, rough kindness, but known very well it could only be limited to the fortunes of war). Nothing like this.

He found himself awkwardly imbrangled in a tender, cautious approach to the one Christian he could approach in these circumstances. It had not been his idea, exactly, but then it hadn't exactly been Norrell's. On the occasion he had rescued Norrell from a Fairy that had apparently been trying to eat him while he collected pears from the pear-tree, Norrell flung his arms round him, kissed him, and then just stood there, gasping, as if love were barely less terrifying than danger. Then Norrell had walked back inside, quickly, and not even mentioned it for the next few days, merely eyeing him cautiously above the breakfast things, and talking more dedicatedly than ever about nothing but magic.

To clear the air, Jonathan had said, "You need not fear I would put my friendship with you at risk by approaching you in a carnal manner, sir!"

Mr Norrell blushed rosily, and said, "So you do not love me, Mr Strange. It was barely to be imagined that you might. If we could work on a spell where we did not have to meet each other day by day, that might ease the problem. Perhaps a set of chimes to ring when one has left a room free?"

Jonathan emitted a not-entirely-serious yelp of despair, ran his hands through his hair (not for the first or last time), and said, "I was only guessing from your apparent disinclination to approach me..."

"I don't see why I should have to," said Norrell rather sharply, for Jonathan had made passing reference to his conquests. "Given your diversity of experience, and also the breadth of it, considering your marriage, you must know how to go about these things. But I daresay I could tolerate an approach comfortably well."

Jonathan opened his mouth--and shut it sharply again. Knowing the disobliging terms in which Norrell-ese was so frequently framed, "tolerating" hot chocolate, gruel, magical studies and warmth "comfortably well" was pretty-much effusive.

But it was at this stage that Jonathan's intuitive comprehension, usually so reliable and swift, let him down. Ever after, he maintained that assuming Norrell was a prickly innocent was perfectly reasonable given what he actually knew of the man.

He spent a week getting to the stage of kissing him on the lips, chastely closed-mouthed, which (to his surprise), was welcomed with the sweetest of tenderness. Norrell closed his eyes and let him kiss. There was no indication but a soft sigh, after that, that Norrell would like any further approaches, except that Norrell reached out for his hands, then, and didn’t seem to want to let go.

He went no further than that. He was not an animal! If Mr Norrell, at his age and dignity, would be scared or hurt by, say, vigorous and enthusiastic approaches, he, Jonathan, would temper his desires to what seemed to be wanted. After all, the two of them might have many years together, and he just didn’t want to be looked at in fear again. He knew what Norrell was like in fear and distress.

And then, after, say, forty minutes of kissing and embracing, Mr Norrell would thank Mr Strange very much for his kindness, and explain that he “must be getting on”. The first time this happened, Jonathan merely gaped, and wondered what he was doing wrong, especially since, despite his words, Mr Norrell had headed not towards the shelves but up to bed. Without inviting him.

Some people were like that. Despite the free-and-easy relations he had enjoyed in the Army, gossip had gone around about some of the men who simply...didn’t need it.

Perhaps Norrell was like that. If so, it was a confounded nuisance!


	2. A Journal in the Darkness, part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert Norrell's personal journal

From the Private Journal of Mr G--- N---, a gentleman of Y---shire

It is the _most terrible affront to my nerves._ Not that Mr Strange has done anything in the least culpable. Unfortunately.

Today a Fairy tried to snatch me away, and ate my last wig, while I was collecting pears from the pear-tree. It's my belief that it (which did not look human-like at all) had every intention of devouring me.

I sent a message-spell (nothing more verbose than HELP ME!, which in the event, since I had not specified how to work it, ended up written on the tablecloth in jam, with an arrow). Of course I would have done it properly if I had more time!

Dear Mr Strange came down the garden at a gallop, and made such a show that the enemy was terrified off in the other direction.

I nearly fainted, from sheer relief that the danger was over.

Some idiotish fancy took momentary control of me. Here I would like to, but at least here, with my only (I nearly scribbled "lonely") confidant, that is, myself, will not, blame Faery enchantment.

I tripped forward, into Mr Strange's arms, held on for as long as I could. Kissed him tenderly but innocently. I did not think, then, of a particular amatory purpose, but later, safe in my own bed, could think of nothing else.

The next time I saw Mr Strange, I performed a particular spell to conceal the flush in my cheeks and the cock-stand in my breeches. It had been a working I was used to cast, in my lonely years, for the preservation of nothing more than my own dignity. When I was with Childermass, I barely had to admit a desire for it to be gratified. Since I was here, in the constant company of the most desirable Mr Strange, I had the spell always ready to hand. He is a married gentleman. Childermass was not exactly on the same level as "the servants" (I would never have approached Lucas, Davey etc, simply because I had always given Childermass the right to speak freely and say no to things I asked), but he was indubitably "not a gentleman".

The worst thing about it is that it confirms something I have occasionally thought with Childermass. Maybe I myself am somehow...not quite a gentleman. Mr Strange is, as far as I can tell, perhaps better-bred, certainly in terms of his social address, and if he, in all his youth and strength and beauty, was not pushing urgently for carnal satisfaction, maybe I myself am in the wrong. Maybe my secret book (the one I call the Dreadful Scrapbook, which I happened upon in a chance encounter in a bookshop, and have never quite been able to forget since) was not the work of a gentleman as I had assumed, but the work of a perverted scoundrel, and I had been lucky to be so considerably satisfied by Childermass, as a gentleman would not be willing to do.

In the secrecy of these pages I can admit that I want Mr Strange to plough me until the bed shakes, the way Childermass used to, but I _cannot_ , I just _cannot_ ask. The longer Mr Strange proves gentle and understanding, the less I myself could admit that. And there is so much risk! For the possible prize that Mr Strange just might feel something similar in terms of chaste tenderness, I will risk all I have, and certainly stifle my unreasonable desires.

After all, a gentleman might kiss, as Mr Strange does so very delightfully, but not use his tongue in the kiss. He would not kneel to use his mouth on me, and he certainly would not take it into his head to...use his tongue in a particularly scandalous manner! [The handwriting becomes a little shaky here, and continues, possibly later, in a slightly different colour of ink] He would not, therefore I must & shall exercise restraint, heaven help me!


	3. Jonathan Strange is Puzzled

Jonathan was ready to burst into flames out of sheer frustration.

The way Norrell looked at him, as if he hung the sun, moon and stars, implied that he wanted love.

Every single time Jonathan tried to bring him up to the mark, however gently and reassuringly, Norrell would stammer a little, and often as not retreat to his bed. Not for any lecherous purpose; Jonathan had looked at him, and Norrell showed none of the physical signs one usually relied on. Yet somehow there was something frankly unchaste about the way his eyes lingered on Jonathan, particularly his arms and thighs, and about the way his tongue slipped out to wet his lips while he did it. 

To be wanted so far, but no further, was cruel.

Sometimes he was snappish with Norrell, "If you'd only come up with books that don't send me to sleep, sir, I learn best when I just pick things up as I go along," to which Norrell would invariably give him a wounded glare, and say that Francis Sutton-Grove was infinitely the best practitioner for encouraging a logical system.

Then they wouldn't talk to each other for two hours, and return in the miserable certainty that it would be impossible to find better company, or indeed stay safe, if they did not keep in close companionship with each other. 

Jonathan would return with a peace-offering, like devising a spell that cleaned smears off the pages of books. There was no shortage of useful spells that were "not in Sutton-Grove", and whether Jonathan made something work from the previously-unreliable pages of Belasis or Ormskirk, or just made something up, Mr Norrell would practically fizz with excitement as he solemnly wrote every detail down. He always looked particularly sweet when he did that, concentrating hard as he settled and fussed over his pens. 

Or Mr Norrell would turn to Jonathan and offer to comb out his unmanageable hair, and even the sulky and almost unpleasant manner in which he offered could not conceal the awkward tenderness with which he touched and took care of Jonathan's hair. It was not at all like being combed out by Arabella, who blamed him playfully if the comb got caught; Gilbert would just hiss slightly, and freeze, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong, until Jonathan reached up and patted his hand and told him he was doing well.


	4. A Journal in the Darkness, Part Two

From the Private Journal of Mr G————— N—-———-, a Gentleman of Y—-shire.’

Oh, this is intolerable!

Why can he not leave me alone if he does not share my inclinations?

I so love to touch his hair, but am I allowed to do it for that reason? And if I hurt him a little (always unintentionally) he still permits me to.

_Why?_

Why would he permit me to be over familiar with him in any way? Surely I am not giving him the impression that my friendship with him is in any way dependent on being able to touch any part of him? Because it would be impossible, would be the action of a boor, if I were to make any such claim on him.

And I _cannot help_ thinking, if he permits me that, whatever innocent liberties might he also permit, just out of friendship.

If only I had not been on such intimate terms with Childermass, maybe I should be able to govern myself better, simply because I did not _know_...

Yet, when I discovered the Dreadful Scrapbook in one of my visits to a bookshop, I had never had the least conception of what was possible among men.

I have to say I swiftly attained some basic comprehension of these possibilities, once given the idea, and even discovered a toy for improving the experience. Then Childermass bluntly offered himself, on discovering I had a taste for men that looked like him.

I cannot...not look.

The book must restrain me from action in giving me some relief.

Oh!

Oh, Childermass...

At some point in the last few years, when I was on good terms with Childermass, I believe he inserted a sketch in the book as a pleasant surprise for me.

Not a sketch of himself, as there is already, but a sketch of Jonathan Strange.

Turning the leaf, I discovered, "I drew him in my spare time. Thought you might appreciate it, as a diversion! PS: don't approach him, sir. He's a married man, and unlikely to see it as a compliment... But there's no harm in a bit of quiet fun, as long as you keep it secret." Perhaps his last tender thoughtful gesture, absolving me from blame for my inclinations while protecting me from the consequences.

Oh, Childermass, I know. I'm almost weeping because I shall never have him, never have you, never have any sort of love again in what remains of my long life.

  
It will be a very long life.

Mr Strange came in. It was all I could do to conceal my emotions, and he gave me every evidence of concern. But how could I explain without his hating me?


	5. Jonathan Discovers Two Books

Jonathan couldn't figure this out. Mr Norrell looked really, visibly upset, more than his normal neutral expression.

But they'd had a good morning. He'd made Mr Norrell hot chocolate, as sweet as he liked it, and Mr Norrell had tenderly combed out his hair. They shouldn't be on bad terms.

"Please, sir, just tell me," Jonathan said, as patiently as he could manage. "Do not you believe, what with the running-mad all over Italy, and the Fairy-servant, we know everything to each other's discredit by now? I believe we've helped each other a great deal by now, out of any magical mishaps we might be prey to."

Mr Norrell put his face in his hands and wept gently.

Jonathan picked his way through. "Not a matter of magic, then?" he said cautiously.

Mr Norrell lifted his face so as to talk somewhat more clearly. "If it were, I would have some idea of what I was doing. I...I don't think I'm a gentleman." He sounded tortured.

"There are lots of types of gentlemen you are not, sir, it's true. You're not from the highest of the ton. You're not a dandy. You're not top-loftical. You never ride to hounds. Nor do you make a punctilious show of mistreating your servants or anyone of a lower class just to make the point you're above them, like Lascelles. All you are is an educated gentleman who worries a little too much about his own dignity."

Mr Norrell reached out blindly for his hand. "No. It's worse." He squeezed Jonathan's hand for some time, placed a kiss in the palm, then said, "Excuse me!" and fairly fled the room.

Jonathan picked up a very small book from the arm of the chair.

The pages appeared to be blank.

As he was placing it on the table, still open, it knocked against a patch of invisibility on the table. He fumbled, and found a larger book.

What on Earth?

Especially since Mr Norrell had very ceremoniously granted him the freedom of the library a few years ago, and he was fairly certain Norrell meant it. Not that Jonathan wouldn't make mistakes, but that he'd have the sense to ask about an idea first.

He cast a silent spell to reveal a book of magic.

The book-shaped space quivered, but revealed nothing. Not a book of magic?

He knew, and cast, a spell for "reveal secret writing".

Surprisingly, the tiny little book quivered instead, and writing began to appear.

He read as quickly as possible, because the letters began to shiver and dim as he read them. He was fairly sure, from the smell of the enchantment, that it wasn't actually destructive, but it was likely to conceal itself for a while after being read, so it was always ready to its owner's eye, but someone else could pick it up ten minutes later without having any idea.

He smiled. There was something so essentially, endearingly _Norrell_ about such behaviour, innocently secretive.

He read quite a bit of the early description of a book, a gentleman's miscellany of lecherous scraps from other works. Bits that even an innocent like Norrell (had been) realised were unusually centred on the desire for men and boys. Whoever the viewpoint character was, and whatever the focus was in the original work, the original collector seemed to be both wealthy and interested in men. Norrell had recorded the marginal complaint in one place that one original work was so female-focused that it took "eighty pages to get to a decent-sized prick".

He chuckled: the implication appeared to be that Norrell realised that because he himself was affected, and had spent some happy hours amusing himself with it.

He read that although Norrell had been horribly shocked the first time he saw it, he had taken to the idea, rather encouraged by an attractive drawing of a centaur looking like Childermass.

Then Childermass in reality had started flirting back at him.

Jonathan felt a little angry; had Childermass decided to steal the man's innocence?

But no, it didn't read that way. It didn't read at all as though Norrell was in love, precisely. More as though out of respect and affection, they had both found each other.

Norrell had described the type of man he preferred: large, masculine, well-built, and Childermass had flirted right back at him, said, "I'd be worrying for my virtue if I had any!"

He raced through the rest to get to the present before the ink vanished, and discovered the extent of Mr Norrell's misapprehension.

Knowing that he, Jonathan, was a married man, and not realising why he, Norrell, was being treated like a delicate virgin, Norrell had bent his considerable efforts on hiding every trace of his own attraction, because he simply could not bear that Jonathan would discover the truth and look at him in revulsion.

Because he did love Jonathan, as he had not quite loved Childermass, and he could not bear to defile that love by turning Jonathan's affectionate platonic regard to disgust, quite as much as Jonathan himself had wanted not to make Norrell afraid.

Jonathan sighed. He put the book down and watched the blankness flood over the pages.

Well, at least he knew what was wanted now, even though he found it slightly difficult to visualise giving someone so daintily-built a good hard fucking.

He squirmed: difficult but not exactly impossible.

Realising what the other concealed book must be, he adjusted the spell to reveal a book which was not a book of magic, and enjoyed quite a bit of it, especially the picture Childermass had done of him, implying to his erstwhile master that Norrell could happily enjoy the picture, but must not approach a married man.

This was quite true: if Jonathan were still in Christendom, with any reasonably sensible prospect of returning to his wife, he would react in a very different manner.

As things were, he couldn't think of a good reason why they should not love each other, let alone enjoy each other.

He sighed. Now all he needed to figure out was how to explain to Norrell without getting a fit of outraged sulking because he had perfectly reasonably taken Norrell for a virginal innocent, a fit of outraged sulking that he'd snooped (the fact that it had been fairly involuntary was unlikely to help), or a fit of outraged sulking that he hadn't somehow read Norrell's mind and subjected him to vigorous fucking weeks ago.

He made a good job of making sure that both books were as concealed as possible before Norrell came in.

 


	6. Jonathan Uses his Tongue, but Not his Eloquence

There were distinct advantages in loving someone almost completely imperceptive in social matters. Norrell seemed to have no clue that Jonathan was trying to hide something, let alone what, although he was looking at his own feet even more than he normally did.

"Gilbert?"

"Mm?" said Mr Norrell, in a manner even more preoccupied than usual.

"I think I would like to..." and he dropped his voice and muttered something.

Having repeated this trick twice to get the object of his attentions somewhat closer, he was in a comfortable distance from Norrell's ear.

"I think I should like to do this," he said gently, nibbling the ear-lobe and then sucking and blowing lightly on the ear.

Norrell blushed instantly, possibly all over. Although Jonathan wasn't entirely sure the man realised it. Norrell was trembling violently.

"Come on, Gilbert, let's get you comfortable," he said, feeling familiarly tender and exasperated, just as if Norrell had got drenched preparing for a spell and he had to set all straight.

Getting Gilbert Norrell comfortable involved making sure there was a cup of something hot to drink, no books in danger--Jonathan picked up the Dreadful Scrapbook and the private journal to put them aside--and the fire was warm enough.

Jonathan sighed as Norrell subjected him to what was (for him) an intense and pointed stare, flicking from him to the incriminating works in question.

He sighed. "Yes, sir, I did. Be it noted that I did not know what I would find, nor was I specifically trying to attack your privacy." He paused. "Also be it noted that I would like nothing better than to engage in such activities with you, and I'd merely been holding back because I was afraid I might scare you."

"Scare me with what?" suggested Mr Norrell mistrustfully, as a man might well do if most of his social interaction seemed to go wrong.

"You wish to know if we ended up on the same page?" asked Jonathan. Norrell looked over to the books as though he took that completely literally.

Jonathan squeezed him close. "I think my ultimate aim will probably be to, how did you express it? 'plough you until the bed shakes the way Childermass did it'. I don't have too much doubt about being able to do the trick. But that's a bit awkward for the first time...so I was reading the bit about gentlemen being far too nice in their manners to stick their tongue in your arse-hole."

"Mr Strange! How dare you, Mr Strange! You know v-very well I wrote no such thing!"

"It went something like, thinking I was too proper to kiss you with tongue, like this," said Jonathan, giving him an example. "And then, of course, I was too proper to use my tongue _here..."_ (from the state of Mr Norrell's breeches under his cupped hand, the modesty-spell was a lost cause). Jonathan prudently withdrew his hand in case of too-sudden culmination. "Let alone, to use my tongue in a particularly scandalous manner.”

"But...I haven't had a bath since..."

"This morning," completed Jonathan sweetly.

"From what I wrote, it could be any part of my body!" expostulated Mr Norrell.

"But we both know it's your arse-hole," said Jonathan. With a quick gesture he removed enough of Norrell's clothes by the art of magic and laid them on the floor.

Norrell shivered hard.

"I'm not going to hurt you," said Jonathan. "In fact, if you can think of a better match to your current desires than to have me stick my flexible, wet tongue up your arse-hole, then you shall tell me what they are and we shall do that."

Mr Norrell bent over a chair. "Be it noted that I am doing this under some protest. I may not actually want to do it for all I know. But unfortunately as long as you're standing behind me, speaking in the lewdest fashion about introducing your tongue to my...to me."

"To your arse-hole," Jonathan corrected.

"To that part of my body, well, I become entirely incapable of rational, sensible thought. So, merely in the interests of my maintaining ratiocinative thought, perhaps you could give me six or seven tongue-thrusts to see if that calms me down?"

Jonathan sighed. He pulled Norrell's hips up so as to have a decent view of his prick while he worked.

"You want to _look_ at me?" said Norrell accusingly, and then, "Ah!" as Jonathan put his tongue in properly. After some licking and thrusting, Jonathan got his tongue out enough to ask him how he was doing.

Mr Norrell sighed, and shuddered, and said, “fuck!”

It didn’t sound like an instruction, or a complaint, so Jonathan went on.

A thought occurred to him. He removed his tongue, and licked softly around the edges where he had the chance to speak. “I bet you want to fucking come by now.” he said, and then thrust his tongue in as far as it could go.

Norrell muttered, “fuck, yes!” and then, “oh fuck!” as he managed to spend vigorously and copiously without being so much as touched in front.

Jonathan was not quite sure whether it was a complaint about the state of the library chair (which was entirely Mr Norrell’s fault) or an expression of heartfelt erotic rapture at a sensation he had never really believed he would have.

His own reasoning capacities were slightly compromised by his own urgent need, “Gilbert,” he gasped out, “please let me!” and Gilbert Norrell offered him warm skin to spend himself against, which was the most either of them could manage for the next couple of hours.

They had enough presence-of-mind to clean up, or at least Jonathan did, then they dozed off on the sopha, with a warm throw-rug over them.


	7. Jonathan Improves on Childermass' Position

Some time later, Gilbert Norrell was vigorously kicking him to wake him up.

“In the politer fairy-tales one wakes one’s lover with a _kiss_ ,” Jonathan insisted.

“The politer fairy-tales are a tissue of lies, as we both know,” said Gilbert. “Besides, you need to make me plenty of gruel and sweet chocolate.”

Doing these things for the sake of a quiet life, Jonathan had them both sat down in the breakfast-room.

“There you are, Mr Norrell,” Jonathan said as amiably as possible. “It might not be breakfast-time, but I’ve done my best to bring a little breakfast into your life.

Gilbert tucked in cheerfully and with appetite. He didn’t even seem to feel the need to complain about anything, and rather to Jonathan’s surprise, he made certain Jonathan had enough toast-and-jam for himself.

“All right, what are you up to?” said Jonathan.

“I fail to see why I should be ‘up to’ anything,” said Gilbert.

Jonathan sighed.

Gilbert said, “In the interests of not being too uninteresting, I considered it’s worth moving to the second possible position I mentioned.”

“So just because I might have become bored or tired servicing you with my tongue you want me to ‘plough you till the bed shakes’ Just as long as I’m not a mere poor substitute for Childermass, that’s all I can say!”

“Far from it,” Mr Norrell said, very seriously. “It’s just that that’s my absolute favourite position with anyone. Childermass asked me if I ever wanted to switch, himself being happy each way, and I had to explain, no, I’d hate to feel we were both fighting for the best position.”

“The best position being ‘whatever stuffs your greedy little arse’, I suppose,” said Jonathan.

“Mr Strange! You are quite impossible!”

“You, however, are positively easy,” said Jonathan, leering at him cheerfully.

"Is it so unreasonable to want to know if you find my absolute favourite position compatible with your own desires?"

"Not in the least," said Jonathan.

And they went to bed.

"Now, I'm not going to get you up on your hands and knees 'the way Childermass did,'" explained Jonathan, when they had undressed and he was admiring the rosy colour of Norrell's skin.

Mr Norrell gave him a spiteful look. Jonathan slapped him on the rump.

"No, I don't want to leave you unsatisfied. I would like to make a trifling adjustment to the position so that you can look me in the face and remember that it's me, your lover now, and not Childermass, and I can look you in the face and remember it's you, my lover now, and not Bell.

"Do people do that? I thought that was for men with women?"

"It's more likely that way round with women, but it's manageable if one's careful," said Jonathan.

Gilbert gave a huge sigh, as if resigning himself to something unreasonable, and rolled on his back.

Jonathan greased him even more than he normally would, considering Mr Norrell's small frame and unaccustomed nature to the position, and only stopped when Mr Norrell was complaining about being "tormented".

"All right, my love," he said, with a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth, and pushed Mr Norrell's legs up.

Mr Norrell said, " _What_ did you just call me?" He moved his legs down to the bed.

Jonathan thought back. Well, there had been the strong implication in the journal that it was more than lust, but maybe he was presuming. "Ah, you need not feel, sir, that I intend to force unwelcome..." was as far as Jonathan got before he found himself subjected to a sound, and indeed extremely passionate, kiss.

"If you'd just explained _that_ to start with, rather than the change in position," said Mr Norrell slightly crossly. He lifted his legs out of the way again, and used his hands to expose himself.

"All right, Gilbert, my love, let's see about giving you a good fucking," said Jonathan. He was interested to note that both the endearment and the coarseness seemed to have a salutary effect.

Childermass had definitely not left Mr Norrell virginal. The position seemed unfamiliar to him, but as soon as Jonathan got halfway in, as gently as possible, Gilbert was pulling and pushing impatiently at him for the rest of it, and when he reached the full depth of his stroke, Gilbert nearly screamed, bit his shoulder and came hard, so hard that Jonathan let the tight muscular spasms take him over the edge in turn.

After a very considerable interval, as Jonathan moved to clean up before he got Mr Norrell complaining again, Mr Norrell said faintly, "You realise that not only was that better than Childermass..."

Jonathan preened his masculine pride.

"...but you have definitively spoiled me for anybody else."

"Mm?" said Jonathan.

"Now I know how good it feels when we both come off at once, and then I don't have to look after you..."

Jonathan sighed. Typical. Mr Norrell would be the type to always go first, because he was a randy little devil with no sense of consideration.

"...then you need not hope I will ever settle for anything less, my dearest." Mr Norrell squeezed his hand.

"I hate to break it to you," Jonathan lied, "but after my experience, I have to say it's more of an occasional lucky chance than a likelihood."

There was a pause of about ten minutes. Just as Jonathan was about to slip into a doze, Norrell said, "You shall help me with it, because my talent is towards adaptations and yours is towards invention."

"What?" said Jonathan.

"A spell for erotic simultaneity, my dearest," said Gilbert Norrell, and slipped both arms round him.

Jonathan sighed. "Of course, my love," he said, and was surprised and pleased at how quickly Gilbert went to sleep trustingly on his shoulder.

 


End file.
